November, 2011

I may have once or twice placed a pot of boiling rameon on my geography textbook, but at one point in time I could rattle off the countries in Africa and their capital cities, courtesy of my nutcase middleschool geography tutor. I would thank her for the education but then again I’ll wait till I save a baby from a burning building with ‘Libreville is capital of Gabon’. Speaking of which, I’m still yet to thank my math teacher because I’ve also yet to solve the unemployment crisis with the quadratic formula. Sorry, this paragraph just reads stupid, I should’ve been born a marshmallow. But if you just thought isn’t Africa a country I might as well get a cardboard box for your belongings and walk you to the door.

So, despite the fact that I thought I was pretty well-versed with the lumps and slumps of this planet and their respective names, Azerbaijan might as well have been a country only accessible through a wardrobe when I first read it in the invitation email. I simply did not have a single reference to form a sort of expectation when getting ready to travel to Baku, except perhaps vaguely remembering something in one of the 007 movies from back in the days when red leather jumpsuit with lumps spilling out meant you were a bond girl. When I landed and the cab weaved through the city towards the hotel, to put it blunt, it was HOLY LLAMABALLS WHERE AM I. I’ll show you more about the city later, but just from the Emporium store launch you can tell it’s been one very very well-kept secret.

I’m not entirely sure what Turkey tastes like, superior chicken, perhaps? Despite the fact that my childhood had been smothered with American culture, I’ve never properly celebrated Thanksgiving as a holiday. For one, the fact that we were Koreans living in Poland attending an American School meant we were dabbling in holidays from all three countries, so ultimately it was cleaning up the food from Korean Thanksgiving and going out to watch the march for the Polish Independence Day… Then a few days later we’d go to school and glue turkey paintings on the window. It’s all a bit confusing. Anyway, Thanksgiving or not, this day is good as any – I just wanted to give a shoutout to my pumpkins Jen & Kit for being wonderful friends, thank you for reminding me to take my meds and reading bedtime stories when I wet my bed. But mostly for tolerating my laaame jokes, of course.

Also a little something for the readers… I know it may not be as much as I’d always love to give, but MyBag.com has allowed me to set aside a few favourites in a small style-shop, and using PARKANDCUBE10 10% can be knocked off any purchases in the next week! (valid till 1/12/11)

I think I’m finally making friends with the fringe… of course when it’s not busy snogging the hairpin under a pile of hay or camping in a wig. OK fine, the hairpin is my doing, and I did go on an impulse wig-purchasing spree at YesStyle… but once again, it’s difficult to manipulate the thing at all without the aid of a hairdryer! And besides, I keep buying kebabs with the money. Don’t mind the nerd glasses and its horn-rimmed glory, I lost one of my contacts on my trip to Azerbaijan (more on that later!) and it was either cross-eyed ‘that black-blotch-better-be-the-camera’ shots or pirate eyepatch… lucky for you it’s neither.

Boots courtesy of Kurt Geiger for the These Boots are Made for Walking series in their blog, shpank you! Also shpank you to dear hubby for the photos.

If I used ‘soft‘ to describe cashmere, would that put me in the Humour, lack-thereof category in Bloglovin’? You see, ‘soft’ really doesn’t cut it when describing the furry ball of rainbow scrunched up in your hand, slippery and foamy all at the same time. Soft is for sentences like ‘Baby here’s your Gilette, the enchanted forest must go, I liked your legs soft and smooth’. Best not put me in a game show, I don’t stand a chance in explaining the fabric without using words like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or MAGIC. Isn’t everything MAGIC when it’s sparkly and furry anyway. What’s a Paris visit without a visit to Eric Bompard, the one brand that is understood to have reached the prime shelves of practically every Parisian’s wardrobe? You should’ve seen this one black 100% cashmere poloneck that would’ve banished every piece but a pair of grey skinnies and black stilettos from my mood-rail for the rest of the season… Lorraine kindly let me borrow a coat and scarf for the night as I’d underpacked for the weather, which probably was a very big mistake – not the underpacking – the getting an unintended taste of the… MAGIC, and having to give it back. See me go my precious with a coat.

Thank you Lorraine & Gabriel for the invitation, and Carrie for helping with the shots!

There’s that one sweater that goes with absolutely everything. I was contemplating the pink version of this at ASOS but decided I just might not be coherent enough in the morning to even consider making pink work.

Favourites from the DIY box

By the time I’m done with those friendship bracelets that ship may have sailed… Time to call it vintage then?

The mood rail

I like to keep a few key pieces for the season separate so in the confusion of learning my name anew while scoffing down breakfast and slapping makeup on in the morning things would simply be easier.

Fell in love with the fact that it’sheer enough to see every single goosebump during the colder seasons. Pair it with a smart pea-coat and you got a whole new man attracting/repelling phenomenon right there.

It’s been the best thing to cycle home to after a long day at work – lemon tea with water just hot enough to prevent boiling off the vitamins, with a bag of English Breakfast tea and a tablespoon of manuka honey.

Winter Skincare

Clinique All About Eyes Serum Probably more attracted to the feeling of a wet metal ball gliding over my eyes… yah, that didn’t sound creepy at all.